Concrete Angel
by LiveLoveLaughX
Summary: Set after the Kurtofsky kiss in Season 2. Kurt deals with his emotions the only way he knows...*TRIGGER WARNING*


The rain pattered down on the blacktop, a light drizzle left over from the torrential downpour this morning. Kurt hurried to his car, parked conveniently at the far end of the parking lot, not caring if his last season Doc Martins got ruined by the weather. He just needed to get out, get away from that blasted school and the Neanderthal-like jocks that roamed the corridors. After what seemed like a decade, Kurt reached the warm, private haven of his car with a sigh of relief, tossing his Marc Jacobs briefcase onto the back seat and turning the radio on full blast. Some whiney girl group was playing, forcing Kurt to quickly plug in his iPod, swapping the nasally pop group for the sweet, mellow tone of Idina Medzel.

_It's time to try Defying Gravity,_

_I think I'll try Defying Gravity,_

_And you won't bring me down..._

Kurt's chest tightened as he whispered the last line under his breath, usually belting out show tunes helped to ease whatever stress he was under, but not today. The numbness wasn't fading, the uneasy pressure that had settled somewhere around his naval was continuing to crush his insides, making it difficult to breathe. This was bad. This was really, really bad. The feeling was far too familiar to Kurt, he was well aware of what it usually lead to.

Turning into the driveway of the Hudson-Hummel household, Kurt worked to keep his breathing deep and even as the numb, cold nothingness spread throughout his body, almost like someone had injected pure ice into his veins. He ran straight passed the living room, where Finn was already sprawled out across one of the sofas watching a game on telly, and up the stairs to his room, locking the door behind him. Before even bothering to change out of his mud-splattered Doc Martins into his softer house shoes, Kurt strode over to his en suite with only one thing on his mind. Reaching behind the various skin-care products and aftershave bottles in his cabinet, Kurt's hands searched for the comforting coolness of the razor blade he kept for moments like these.

He stripped down to his underwear quickly, his normally beautifully folded clothes discarded in a heap on the floor. Turning to face himself in the mirror, Kurt's eyes traced over the layer upon layer of pale, pearlescent scars that were scattered across his arms, thighs and abdomen. A single hot tear rolled down his porcelain cheek as he looked at himself with disgust, regarding the marks with the eye of an outsider. How he hated this feeling, so detached from the world and from himself that only the sharp pain of his skin being torn could bring him back from this nothingness.

It had started about 5 years ago, when the bullying had become too much. While other boys were joining football teams and whispering about the girls they knew, Kurt had found himself becoming more interested in music, dance and most importantly, fashion. Just like his mother, Kurt was flamboyant, expressive, heart set on standing out from the crowd, and so instead of hiding his differences he displayed them to the world without hesitation. When the name-calling and teasing progressed into punches and shoves, Kurt had internalised the pain, determined to not give his tormenters the satisfaction of seeing him fall apart, turning to cutting as a way of releasing the build up anger and hurt. Of course, that had eased up once Blaine had entered his world. Finally, someone who understood completely how it felt to be ostracised for being gay, for just being yourself. That was something that, no matter how much they tried, Kurt's friends from New Directions could never fully understand. He'd thought he had been doing so well, he hadn't reached for the razor in 2 months...But today, today when he had felt Karofsky's lips on his, his calm facade had shattered and he found himself longing once more for the gentle kiss of the blade on his skin.

Kurt could feel nothing as the silver razor glided across the scarred skin of his forearm, so detached that he gazed upon the scarlet line of blood with no emotion. This wasn't right; the waves upon waves of numb nothingness weren't ebbing away. He brought the blade down again, pushing harder this time, craving the spark of pain that usually brought him back from this black hole, but nothing. Again and again he cut his forearm, not aware of the tingling in his fingers or the steady trail of blood that was seeping from the gashes. Only when Kurt felt the tell-tale signs of the sick, dizziness of blood loss did he realise what he'd done. Reaching for the soft, duck-egg blue towel hanging on the door, Kurt tried to staunch the flow but with no avail. A sudden thought stopped Kurt in his tracks, would it really be that bad? If he just gave up and let his life flow out until there was nothing left? Of course, his dad would be heart-broken but he had Carole now, Finn wouldn't understand but he would cope...and Blaine – brave and loveable Blaine – he would find a way of coping, he always did. Kurt sighed as his head tipped back, the last of his pain was replaced with peace, and the last of his life force slipped away.


End file.
